I'd crawl back from the grave in search of summer love.

Describe

what your hair is looking like while your reading this.

I use to have those baby hairs in the front with bangs with furrows covered with earth.

Hard to believe when you drove me home, I felt

the juice of dawn in your safety. I would go anywhere

to

be with you. In the swollen town where the wrinkled suburbanites 

sling over their shoulders their washable fabrics. In a phone

booth

in Flint. I would crawl back from the grave in

search of summer love. At night we would

take our power back from the bugs

and who says that we, fat and stupid, had to love our bodies,

or make tulips out of the smoking wires in the wall.

Who said that the girl scout cookies , the Dosido's were as a round

softness padding ourselves fancy glamorous; wild haired

with the stink of feet and tampons?

Were this a real poem, I could show you how the dream

cascades from the honey branches. How

the angels sit their beverages down, like seeds

on glass topped mercerize luster. But

as a fake one, I asked myself,

did I cry today.

Reviews

[Beccy]

Memories are mostly better than the reality of how it was. But we do need those memories, even though we inevitably twist and shape them to suit.

Stinky feet, tampons, angels and our time in the sun, a unique juxtaposition, but it works beautifully in this very real poem.

Beccy.

[h d e rushin]

"memories are mostly better than the reality of how it was"...so true my love...As I wish I could just have the good ones, and forsake the bullshit, meaty spoiled parts of the bad ones...I love and miss you.../dana

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

Reeking and word-speaking and being a young woman shrieking in a young woman’s reality. Is the ripe memory of love, the reality of it? Talking the poem to “her”, professing adoration for the “her” that she was, through the summer-needy eyes of the you that you were...your words are powerful, real and evocative. You allow us to experience them, feel them, live in your story. Thank you for this excellent write.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my love for those kind words..../dana

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

You are most welcome dana.:))

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the dream, the reality.....how it was is it just what we imagined it was? or were we different then?

did you make tulips out of burning wires...or just charred burnt flowers...plastic ones.

real life does have its bad scents, its stinks...but it also is glorious in its reality...and crying means we actually feel.
j.

[h d e rushin]

I cry a lot now brother....Getting old in this confidence game called poetry writing will do it to you...thank you again my friend...dana